Bones of the Carrion Crow
by myathestoryteller
Summary: When Bones and Booth go looking for clues about Ian Wexler's murder from the Crow, London's most famous urban Legend, what they find is not what they expect. London is a town of mysteries and magic.


Disclaimer: I own nothing. Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling. Bones belongs to Fox and the wonderful lady whose name I forget who wrote the books.

Booth and Bones stood to the side as Ian Wexler's two assistants debated fiercely in hushed tones.

"We should tell them."

"Tell them? You must be suicidal. The Crow would skin us alive!"

"We're suspects. And Ian knew Ninga. So The Crow might know something. Besides William, there's nothing in London the Crow can't get info on. Besides, we're Fledglings. If we get into a trouble that might endanger the Flock in any way, we have a duty to tell the Crow."

"It's your arse on the line if we get in trouble. Bloody hell, we're telling an outsider how to get to the Crow, Vera. The Crow!"

"Not the Crow. Father Abbot."

In the background, Booth snorted, and both assistants turned to face him. Their faces were solemn, and William drew back a bit, leaving Vera to do the talking.

"I don't know how this happened, but we know someone who might. He is known as the Crow, and he is one of the most powerful people in London. He runs a relatively low key gang known as the Flock. William and I are Fledglings, members of the gang who decided to leave the gang and live our own lives. We still keep in touch with the rest of them, and the Crow knows everything. He has eyes almost everywhere, and wherever he doesn't have eyes, he knows someone who owes him a favour."

"If he's so powerful, why haven't we heard of him before?" Booth demanded, suspicious.

"That's the whole point. The Flock can't be high profile, and they are almost completely non-violent, and the Crow rarely leaves his nest. Anyone who isn't affiliated with the Flock in anyway has never heard of him, and those who are with the Flock won't speak about him unless absolutely necessary. He's an urban myth to most of London if they have heard of him."

"But he's real."

"As real as the nose on your face."

"How do we meet this so-called Crow then? Climb the Big-Ben, close our eyes and wait for midnight?"

"You go to the little chapel just south of Alconbury Road, in Hackney. Father Abbot lives there with Brother Paladin. You ask to speak with Father Abbot and ask which way the crow flies. He will ask you how a bird knows which way is home, and then you show him something. He'll take you from there."

"That sounds like something out of a spy film. What is this something anyway?" Booth was getting angry.

William dug something gout of his pocket, turning it over in his hands. Booth looked at the cloth band in William's hand dubiously.

"That's going to gain us admittance? That's a scrap of cloth, anyone could make one."

"This isn't it, it's only half. The cloth itself has black embroidery on it; it's almost invisible to the naked eye."

"And the other half?" Bones was becoming amused; it wasn't every day that a possible suspect could rile Booth up this much, and these two had him steaming in under five minutes.

"Just a little drawing on the palm of your left hand."

Booth gave the two a glare as he thrust out his left hand, and Bones put out her hand as well. Vera uncapped a black marker, and with a few short strokes, an upside down peace symbol with some of the circle missing was on their hands in stark black. The cloth was tied over Booth's hand in a backwards square knot, and the two of them were on their way to London's notorious East End.

Bones examined her hand thoughtfully as she and Booth approached the small chapel. It was worn down, and looked to have been there since the 1800's. But it was also obviously well cared for. There was a fresh coat of whitewash on the walls; the roof was in good repair, and the stained glass windows were freshly scrubbed. Inside, the wooden floors were polished, as were the wooden pews. The pulpit at the front was small, and the bible on it was leather-bound, old, and well loved. She heard footsteps on the floor behind her and turned.

It was a young man, not even in his twenties. He looked like a classical angel, with pale blond hair, and ice blue eyes. He was thin, wispy almost, and had a far-off look in his eyes, as if he was seeing not the here and now, but someplace else.

"Can I help you with something?"

"We're looking for Father Abbot. Is this the place?" Booth said, coming up from behind Bones.

"I'm Brother Paladin. One moment please, he was just lying down for a rest." the Brother walked off to the back. He returned a moment later with an older man, somewhere in his fifties or sixties. If Brother Paladin was ethereal, Father Abbot was earthly. There was something vaguely solid about him, reassuring. He strode over to Bones and Booth, and shook their hands warmly. He startled a bit when he saw the cloth wrapped around Booth's hand.

Bones nudged Booth as he and the Father exchanged pleasantries. He looked annoyed for a second, but recovered and remembered the reason where they were there.

"Which way does the crow fly, Father Abbot?" Booth asked, looking embarrassed.

"How does a bird know the way home?" the Father was solemn.

Booth unwrapped his hand and showed Father Abbott the palm of his hand. Bones held her palm up, and the Father looked troubled.

"You had better follow me." he said, and walked into the inner sanctum of the chapel.

**A/N: **This took me a while to do. I was looking up roads in the poorer parts of London. I have no Brit-Picker or beta reader, but I would sorely welcome both. Updates will be sporadic, but I do have some ideas to further this, and the reason it is crossed over with Harry Potter will be revealed soon. I posted this because I was banned from reading fanfiction or doing anything enjoyable on the internet. Flames will be used to roast my non-existent s'mores. Also, does anyone know if there is a Chinatown in London?


End file.
